CHAPTER XVIII.

Elizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr.

Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. "How could

you begin?" said she. "I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when

you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first

place?"

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which

laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I

knew that I _had_ begun."

"My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners--my behaviour

to _you_ was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke

to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere;

did you admire me for my impertinence?"

"For the liveliness of your mind, I did."

"You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less.

The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious

attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking

and looking, and thinking for _your_ approbation alone. I roused, and

interested you, because I was so unlike _them_. Had you not been really

amiable you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you

took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and

in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously

courted you. There--I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it;

and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly

reasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me--but nobody thinks

of _that_ when they fall in love."

"Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane, while she was

ill at Netherfield?"

"Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it

by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are

to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me

to find occasions for teazing and quarrelling with you as often as may

be; and I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling

to come to the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when you first

called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did

you look as if you did not care about me?"

"Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement."

"But I was embarrassed."

"And so was I."

"You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner."

"A man who had felt less, might."

"How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that

I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you

_would_ have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when

you _would_ have spoken, if I had not asked you! My resolution of

thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. _Too

much_, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort

springs from a breach of promise, for I ought not to have mentioned the

subject? This will never do."

"You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady

Catherine's unjustifiable endeavours to separate us, were the means of

removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to

your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to

wait for any opening of your's. My aunt's intelligence had given me

hope, and I was determined at once to know every thing."

"Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy,

for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to

Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed?

or had you intended any more serious consequence?"

"My real purpose was to see _you_, and to judge, if I could, whether I

might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to

myself, was to see whether your sister were still partial to Bingley,

and if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made."

"Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine, what is to

befall her?"

"I am more likely to want time than courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to

be done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done

directly."

"And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you, and

admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But

I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected."

From an unwillingness to confess how much her intimacy with Mr. Darcy

had been over-rated, Elizabeth had never yet answered Mrs. Gardiner's

long letter, but now, having _that_ to communicate which she knew would

be most welcome, she was almost ashamed to find, that her uncle and aunt

had already lost three days of happiness, and immediately wrote as

follows:

"I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought to have

done, for your long, kind, satisfactory, detail of particulars; but

to say the truth, I was too cross to write. You supposed more than

really existed. But _now_ suppose as much as you chuse; give a

loose to your fancy, indulge your imagination in every possible

flight which the subject will afford, and unless you believe me

actually married, you cannot greatly err. You must write again very

soon, and praise him a great deal more than you did in your last. I

thank you, again and again, for not going to the Lakes. How could I

be so silly as to wish it! Your idea of the ponies is delightful.

We will go round the Park every day. I am the happiest creature in

the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one

with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I

laugh. Mr. Darcy sends you all the love in the world, that he can

spare from me. You are all to come to Pemberley at Christmas.

Your's, &c."

Mr. Darcy's letter to Lady Catherine, was in a different style; and

still different from either, was what Mr. Bennet sent to Mr. Collins, in

reply to his last.

"DEAR SIR,

"I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth will

soon be the wife of Mr. Darcy. Console Lady Catherine as well as

you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has

more to give.

"Your's sincerely, &c."

Miss Bingley's congratulations to her brother, on his approaching

marriage, were all that was affectionate and insincere. She wrote even

to Jane on the occasion, to express her delight, and repeat all her

former professions of regard. Jane was not deceived, but she was

affected; and though feeling no reliance on her, could not help writing

her a much kinder answer than she knew was deserved.

The joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving similar information, was

as sincere as her brother's in sending it. Four sides of paper were

insufficient to contain all her delight, and all her earnest desire of

being loved by her sister.

Before any answer could arrive from Mr. Collins, or any congratulations

to Elizabeth, from his wife, the Longbourn family heard that the

Collinses were come themselves to Lucas lodge. The reason of this sudden

removal was soon evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered so

exceedingly angry by the contents of her nephew's letter, that

Charlotte, really rejoicing in the match, was anxious to get away till

the storm was blown over. At such a moment, the arrival of her friend

was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though in the course of their

meetings she must sometimes think the pleasure dearly bought, when she

saw Mr. Darcy exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility of her

husband. He bore it however with admirable calmness. He could even

listen to Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on carrying away

the brightest jewel of the country, and expressed his hopes of their all

meeting frequently at St. James's, with very decent composure. If he did

shrug his shoulders, it was not till Sir William was out of sight.

Mrs. Philips's vulgarity was another, and perhaps a greater tax on his

forbearance; and though Mrs. Philips, as well as her sister, stood in

too much awe of him to speak with the familiarity which Bingley's good

humour encouraged, yet, whenever she _did_ speak, she must be vulgar.

Nor was her respect for him, though it made her more quiet, at all

likely to make her more elegant. Elizabeth did all she could, to shield

him from the frequent notice of either, and was ever anxious to keep him

to herself, and to those of her family with whom he might converse

without mortification; and though the uncomfortable feelings arising

from all this took from the season of courtship much of its pleasure, it

added to the hope of the future; and she looked forward with delight to

the time when they should be removed from society so little pleasing to

either, to all the comfort and elegance of their family party at

Pemberley.